


daft pretty boys

by corporate_hotline



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Pining, dont know how to tag leave me alone, i guess??, inspired by the shirt video, no beta we die like men, pretty gnf, this was written in one night ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-26 23:08:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30113457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corporate_hotline/pseuds/corporate_hotline
Summary: dream had found plenty of people attractive. describe it however you like: hot, sexy, good-looking. But george. george was something different. george was pretty.***the aftermath of the shirt video and dream has some thoughts
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 96





	daft pretty boys

**Author's Note:**

> hello i watched gnf's stupid shirt video and i wanted to write this bc he's so pretty. its very rushed. i don't care.
> 
> **disclaimer** im only writing this because dream and george are okay with it. if that ever changes, i'll take it down. im not forcing this ship on to them or on to anyone else. this is purely for funsies :P
> 
> anyways as i said this was rushed but it was fun and i just rlly wanted to upload something. this was also pretty unedited so if there's any glaring errors pls tell me lol.
> 
> enjoy :3

Dream had found plenty of people attractive. Describe it however you like: hot, sexy, good-looking. But George. George was something different. George was _pretty_.

George was pretty in a way that left Dream’s mouth dry, left him struggling to find his next words, left him red, and hot, and flustered. He had delicate facial features and rich dark eyelashes that cast deep shadows over his cheekbones. His hair curled at the ends and fell into his face oh-so-perfectly. George was pretty in a way that was different than any man Dream had ever seen. Or any woman, for that matter.

It often left him thinking, late at night, alone in his room. It wasn’t the fact that he was a man. No, when Dream thought back on his childhood, George being a man was the thing that made the most sense in this whole dilemma. What bothered him was that it was _George_. George, his best friend, his partner. Dream shouldn’t be _thinking_ about him like this, shouldn’t fall asleep to images of his soft smile, shouldn’t wake up with his name on his lips. And yet he _does._ Every night, every morning, every day, he thinks of George, and he tries not to do anything he might regret.

Something about the stupid shirt video set him off, in a way– or perhaps more accurately, the aftermath of the video. The game had been beaten, Sapnap had left the call to go do whatever it is he does, and Dream and George were left, both of their faces equally flushed, but for very different reasons. Dream watched as George ran his hands down his face, trying to cool down. “That was so stupid,” he whined, “I’m so _hot_.” 

Dream chuckled lowly. “Oh, I bet. _So_ hot,” he said. George scoffed and rolled his eyes, drawing a laugh from Dream. “You did good, though. Nice job, George.”

“Why, thank you, Dream,” George said sarcastically. “I’m taking these off now. You can stay. If you want.” He moved towards the computer, starting the recording again.

Dream muted his mic and sat back in his chair, watching George speak to the camera. He flung his headphones off and started grabbing at the first shirt of many. George stripped them off, one by one, hair sweaty and more mussed up with each shirt.

Dream kept his eyes on the screen and let his mind wander. He let himself think about the things he so often avoided. He took in George’s image, from his bright eyes to his dainty wrists. He traced the curve of his flushed neck and the damp hair sticking to his skin. As he pulled at the fabric, the slightest bit of his collarbone poked out, the harsh lighting of his room casting shadows in the dips and crevices of his body. 

At one point, possibly shirt 50 or 60, George stopped for a moment, his arms tired and his face sweaty. He ran a hand through his hair, down his neck, to grip at the remaining collars, dragging them away from his skin. His head lolled to the side, he drew his bottom lip between his teeth, and he exhaled deeply. “ _Fuck.”_

Dream watched the word roll off his lips, emphatic and exhausted. Dream briefly imagined George in a different situation, looking just like this, flushed and tired and utterly debauched. The thought went straight to his groin. 

George sighed. “I’m just so fucking _hot_ ,” he whined, laughing lightly. “Okay, okay, I’ll cut that out. Anyways.”

And for George, in an instant, it was over. But in his own room, 4,000 miles away, Dream was trapped. He was trapped in his own mind, replaying the scene, letting his thoughts go places he could never admit to out loud. He saw only flashes– flashes of crimson bedsheets and pale skin and glistening sweat. He thought of George’s pretty face. He thought of how much prettier he might look completely blissed out, blushing and keening and wanting. 

Later, this would bother him. When the call is disconnected, and he lay in his bed alone, he would be overcome with shame, with guilt at thinking about George like this. But for now. For now, he couldn’t stop himself, couldn’t block out the images, couldn’t dampen the heat pooling deep in his gut.

On the screen, Dream watched as George finally reached the final two shirts. The black one was damp from the water he had poured on himself, sticking to George’s slim chest. Once he peeled that one off, he was left in just the plain white shirt he started with. Under the pressure of all the other shirts, it had become wrinkled and stretched. The loose collar hung low on his neck, exposing his collarbones completely. Dream stared at his skin, at the slight sheen of sweat pooling there. He tracked his movement as George ran his hands across his body. He memorized the way the red flush ran all the way down to his chest.

George was always pretty. But right now, he was fucking _gorgeous._

Through the haze, Dream heard George saying goodbye to the video. “I’m going to go– have a shower or something.” He stood up and out of frame, groaning an “Oh my God” as he walked away. He returned a moment later with a water bottle in hand, collapsing into his chair lamely. “Oh my God, that was awful.” Dream didn’t answer. “Dream?” George asked, clicking back to the Discord call. “Are you still there?”

Dream took a minute to clear his throat and his mind. “Yeah,” he said, unmuting his mic. “I’m here.”

“That was dumb, and I hate you for giving me the idea,” George complained. But the soft smile on his face gave him away.

“It’s a good video, and you know it,” Dream teased. George just rolled his eyes.

“Sure it is.” George shifted around in his chair, fanning himself with his loose collar. “What are you doing now?”

“I don’t know,” Dream said. “Just… looking.”

“At what?”

_You. Always you._

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

**Author's Note:**

> can you tell i struggle with endings
> 
> anywho. i honestly posted this bc i want to post something before dnf week which i will be participating in very very soon. so be on the lookout for that. this wasn't my best work, i'll admit it, but i've got some good things coming. and ofc, i'll be back to some pynch stuff soon.
> 
> kudos and comments give me life!! they're very appreciated :D
> 
> idk how to link things in notes yet (im bad at ao3) but come find me on twitter or tumblr  
> tumblr: corporate-hotline  
> twitter: @corphotIine (the L is a capital i)


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